myironeyes | Entries tagged with brood brood cluck cluck

[Public, video]

[Marsh looks, if possible, even more grave than usual. He looks very tired.]

Kara Zor-El's door appears to have reverted to barge standard.

[His mouth pinches, and then he takes a breath, as though to say something else - but he doesn't. The silence stretches, for a few more seconds.]

I will be leaving the barge and returning to my own world. Shortly.

[Private to Luna]

I would like you to consider taking my place as Kitchen Supervisor for the dinner shift.

[Spam for Zane]

[He's there when Zane wakes, as they lurch and rumble and sail away from Karazhan. He couldn't go back, of course, not like Iris did, would be more a hindrance and a danger than any help, as much as he hated to watch her descend again. But Zane, at least, was here, safe. He makes tea with shaking hands, and keeps vigil like he once had for Kelsier. It feels like it was very long ago.]

[Spam for Cassel]

[A knock on his door, the day after their return.]

It's Marsh. I have. Something for you.

[Private to Jean]

[Heavily,]

Thank you.

[Spam for T'Pol]

[It's in the middle of one of their irregular - by barge necessity - sewing lessons, after they've settled into the rhythmic silence of practicing a new technique. Without looking up, or any particular emotional inflection, he murmurs,]

When we were small, you asked how I knew about allomancy, if it was supposed to be a secret.

My mother was skaa, but my father was noble. It was very illegal.

[Private to Dean]

I apologize for my actions.

[Private to Clementine]

When you are done here, I hope you will visit me. I think you might enjoy meeting my god.

[Private to Sylvanas]

I hope someday you find peace in a manner that suits you.

[Private for Iris, backdated to right after the Pacific Rim breach]

[The first few minutes, after the spikes come back to him, are alway a special sort of excruciating. He sprawls on his chair, tries not to shudder, tries not to whimper. Later, when the fog of pain retreats just slightly, clears a space for thought, the rest seeps in, Zane's baby toes and the white-hot meld of drifting and Iris, a life with Iris, in patches and screaming and tight knuckles holding on, the smell of her hair, the slow march of lines on her face and the way he knows each one. Knew. Knew each -

- it's something. And he doesn't know what to do about it at all. He opens a voice channel, because he loves her too much to let it make him a coward, has no idea what to say.]

Iris...

[It comes out raspy and tender at once, more than he meant it to. Did you win, he thinks, even though he was watching everyone's progress when the breach ended. They regaled each other so many times.]

[Public Video]

The kitchen is, as usual, understaffed. We were understaffed before this latest shake-up and now we are more understaffed. We require at least one temporary warden supervisor for the lunch shift and four or five new inmates.

Those interested should speak to Riddick or myself.

[Open spam, backdated throughout the last few days]

[Marsh can be found in odd times at odd places - late and night on the deck or early morning in the greenhouse, hunched over, making soft, choking noises, his little cockatiel crooning worriedly and attempting to preen his short hair. Folded in a corner of the ice-damaged stairwell, a hand splayed over his spikes, breathing hitched, shoulders shaking, looking like nothing so much as a man desperately trying to sob and unable to manage it.

The crying from Iris's room - it's psychic, he doesn't just hear it. It gets in when he is too tired to fend it off from ripped-open places, and then it becomes him, the loneliness and fear and grief, the confusion of the very young. He remembers himself - it is not overwhelming, not like Ruin at its worst, nothing like that - but he cannot stop feeling it. And the feeling is not entirely unfamiliar.]

[Private spam for Bianca]

[He decides, eventually, that it cannot be a trick, that something is real, must be suffering. Or perhaps he doesn't care anymore, as long as it stops. He arrives at her door with his jaw clenched from the effort of holding the lost, abandoned feeling back, and it still drips through his cracks, stings like salt in his punctures. He knocks.]

[Private spam for ~~C'Rizz~~ the Dalek Emperor, backdated to shortly after the arena]

[It's not a pleasant return, but he falls to the necessary housekeeping with a grim sort of gratitude. He asks the admiral for a resurrection, then swallows a truly foul amount of powdered pewter and a small sliver of feruchemy-laced gold. Then cooks until he stops seeing Iris on every blank nonmetallic surface, and brings the egg soup to C'Rizz's room. He knocks, then lets himself in.]

It's me.

[Public, text]

First. Everyone should stock non-perishable food and water. More than you need. And carry some on you, if you can. Those who remained themselves kept possesions on their person when they switched over last time. I will prepare small packs for anyone who would like one. Volunteers who wish to do the same may meet me in the kitchen after the end of dinner shift.

Second. Medicines, if you need them. Can the infirmary provide small amounts of disinfectants for everyone? I will make up suture kits, and if anyone does not know how to sew, I can teach you. It isn't difficult.

Third. Everyone should arrange signals with those they trust, so those who have not been remade can recognize each other without being revealed. We should also share anything that might help those from this reality gain our confidence and cooperation if we are changed - many there would have overthrown it if they could.

( TW for suicidal themes/plans/contingencies )

I've noticed a number of absences at dinner.

I'm not affected and I'm not interesting in asking you questions.

[The first is a lie: he can do that, when not asked a direct question. The second is mostly true, except by implication, because he might ask questions anyway. Like this one.]

Which of you are skipping meals to avoid encountering people during this flood?

[Anyone who answers yes - and even some of you who don't - are going to get food deliveries from Trainspike Hedgehog, here.]

[OOC: feel free to through up a spam response to him knocking, if you want that instead of a network thread.]

[Public]

We need at least one more inmate on the regular dinner shift.

[Spam for Aeryn & anyone on the Kitchen on-call list who wants to be there.]

[There's no lack of volunteers on the barge, but Marsh dislikes the messiness of it, the last-minute rearrangement of high turnover.]

...why don't we just make everyone pancakes tonight.

[This is not a question. There is no good reason not to make pancakes for dinner.]

( Valentines: Jean, Ned, Iris, and Nathan. )

[Public text + open spam, the afternoon of Iris's reunion with her bus]

There is fresh pie in the Dining Room.

[Or anyone could encounter Marsh in the stairwells or in the Dining Room itself, appearing in a stern swish of black shrouds to drop them off, one each, steaming slightly, at neat intervals. He needed to do something with his hands, and for once sewing felt insufficient.]

( Confidential to Kelsier, Iris, Nathan, Zane, Touko, Riddick, Ben, and Sylvanas. )

( confidential to Ned, Kelsier, Alpha, and Nathan )

[Open Spam all over the barge, from a few days after the mirror event through White Flag, particularly relevant to Jean, Cassel, Alex, Zane, and Ryan, because you guys now have a pointy extra shadow.]

[Several months of memories of being used as a brutal nightmare of a weapon have made Marsh even more skittish, if possible, than he was when he first board the barge. He skulks and lurks and generally keeps to the corners of the regrettably well-lit corridors. He ducks into empty cabins when people pass in the halls, and he collects food at odd times. It is, however, less absent than his usual hermitage, because he's actively stalking a few people at a distance whenever they emerge from hiding.]

[OOC: feel free to run into him while he's watching out for someone else, or if you want to say your character was chopped to pieces once or a dozen times by mind controlled!Marsh in the mirror event, he might feel obligated to quasi-discretely check on them too. Just let me know!]

[Open Spam, CES]

[It's pitch dark, except for the small area illuminated by the light spilling in through the open door; Marsh doesn't need light. The CES gave him the rebellion's cave systems today, and although there are torches stashed here in there in the tunnels, Marsh doesn't need them. The rock is solid, cool but not cold, and he's tucked just around a bend, holding still. Letting himself be still. He isn't sure himself if it's comforting or just stalling, but at least it is familiar.]